Meeting Ysolda Teague

One of my favorite things about Purl Diva’s, aside from the amazing yarns Ellen stocks, is the little email updates that tell you who’s going to be around and when. (Yes, I know email updates are commonplace now. But I still appreciate them, okay? I lived a good chunk of life without a home computer, basically because there were no such things.) And this little email update informed me that Ysolda Teague would be at the shop.

I live a good distance from Purl Diva's, which means I usually reserve visits for “special occasions” so I can justify the trip. Meeting a designer whose work I like? Yep. It qualified.

So yes, I also tend to stock up when I go down there (Oy vey, what I spent when I took the Franklin Habit class), though with Thing 1 graduating high school and a family wedding in New York this June, I was minimalist to the extreme this trip.

That hurt. Badly. It was especially painful as there was more of the naturally-colored alpaca that I love (might need two skeins to make it a shawl, after all), and some beautiful beaded silk in soft pastels hanging right near the register, just begging me to take it home. (I can still hear it sniffling in the background. If it doesn’t give up soon I’m going to have to buy it some cold medicine, because I am under strict orders to myself NOT to call up Ellen and buy it instead. I hope I listen to me.)

I did have extra cash in my pocket, but it was given me by a friend with the understanding that I would pick up dinner at the Bombay Mahal and said friend might have been cranky if I had returned with alpaca and silk instead. Worse yet, he may have tried to eat them in lieu of the lamb bhuna he ordered. He is that kind of person.

So, cautious pocketbook notwithstanding, I ventured down to Purl Diva’s last Saturday. I had seen some of her work in Knitty; the Airsaig in particular caught my eye, in part because I’m a geek for the history of things, be it culture-wide or personal, and I loved the story of her grandfather’s talent for knitting, and of how she inherited his yarn. I peeked at her website, was bowled over by the new (to me) designs, and quickly talked my lovely Thing 2 into babysitting Things 3 & 4.

I’m always of two minds about attending these sorts of gatherings. It is nice to get out and show support for designers who do work you admire, but I nonetheless feel like I have about 15 left feet and am stuffing all them in my mouth simultaneously when it comes to actually talking to people. Stick me on a stage where I’m being somebody else and I’m fine. (Well, most days. I did have one mucked up dress rehearsal recently.) But in a room full of strangers as myself? I tank, baby, every time. I go very shy, which makes me nervously talkative, which makes me wish I would just shut up.

Fortunately, there were a lot of nice knitters there, as well as Ysolda

who very sweet, charming, and quietly helpful and who managed not to look as if she wanted to hit 911 any time I opened my mouth—I thought that very gracious of her. There was Sadie, who seemed to share my affinity for the color purple in all its shades, judging by the number of yarns we kept agreeing we liked. (Should I worry that I can now spot Noro and Brown Sheep's Lamb's Pride across a store and know what they are without getting closer? Nah. They’re both distinctive on the shelf, so it has nothing to do with me spending too much time around yarn, right? Right.) And there were an oddly high number of people who had once been Midwesterners, or who were current, traveling Midwesterners, in attendance. It makes me wonder what’s up with us all running back East. Blog for another day, I guess.

And, of course, there were the samples of Ysolda’s work. She is such a talented designer!

(this sweater is Matilda Jane)

Everything was beautiful, though I think I fell most in love with Vivian, which is a cabled hoodie. I’m still kicking myself for not taking a picture of the cuff detail, let alone the whole sweater--I had another attack of the shys about then. Anyway, Ysolda runs the cable down into the cuff itself, and said cuff has a lovely, soft flair to it. Fortunately, if you click on the picture of Vivian on Ysolda's website, you will be taken to Twist Collective, where they do have a picture of the sleeve detail. (And yes I am off to purchase that particular pattern from her website when I finish up here, because it’s not expensive and I decided it would be my treat to myself for catching up blogs—snow zombies, complete with pictures, are being written up next, woot—and surely I will be good enough to wait until later to purchase the yarn so don’t give me that look. I can be good. I can show restraint. Oh, quit laughing.)

The other thing that stood out for me was the casual speed at which Ysolda knits and crochets. To someone who does both slowly (that would be me, in case there was any doubt), it was sort of hypnotic to watch, especially since she throws her yarn when knitting. By the time I get enough experience to be that fast, I’ll be so old I won’t remember what the sticks, hook and strings are for, you know?

All in all, it was a lovely day. I walked away with Ysolda’s book and some stitch markers for the other project I’m a hairsbreadth from casting on. (Shhh, fuss at me later.) And that is all. Seriously. I stopped off at Bombay Mahal where I picked up the friend's order and some to-die-for lamb pasanda, along with two kinds of naan, cucumber raita and rice pudding, and went on my merry way. (Though I have to say that Shere Punjab is next on the To Try list--I've heard it's fabulous as well.)

I think all Saturdays should be like that one, don’t you? (Well, like that one, but with a bigger yarn purchase budgets and less feet stuffed into mouth.)

Meeting Franklin Habit

Or, The Uber Tardy Blogger Catches Up Again...


Clearly, I am using my kids with four different nights (weekdays)/days (weekends) of activities, getting ready to take a new craft class (basket weaving…shh, don’t tell my hooks and needles about the new packing tools I had to buy…), zipping back across half the the nation to get a new car and work (yes, I even do that occasionally) as an excuse for being behind on the blog.

I know. Me. Behind on the blog. Shocking.

Ahem.

Anyway, I seriously can’t believe I’m behind on this one, because I got to meet Franklin Habit and spend a delightful few hours immersed in photography when he hosted a class at The Purl Diva. I found out about the class totally by accident. I was in Yardgoods, buying…um, looking, I mean looking at…yarn and was peeking at Franklin’s book while by the counter. One of the ladies informed someone had been in to buy the book so Franklin could sign it when he did his class in Brunswick in two weeks.

Class? Brunswick?? I immediately went home and caught up on the Panopticon, then checked out Purl Diva’s site, telling myself that the class would probably be way too expensive so there was no harm in just looking at the course information, gasping and going about my regular business.

But it wasn’t. It was well within even the single-mom-on-a-budget budget. And I had belated birthday money that had just been sent to me, with instructions to splurge on myself. (Like the sender really had to twist my arm on that one.)

Great. Now that I knew I could afford the class, it was probably full. Still, I emailed Ellen, as I am stupidly optimistic like that (said trait explains how so many of my dead-end relationships kept going around the cul-de-sac, but that’s another story).

Ellen emailed back that it had been full, but since it was two days after Christmas, people had cancelled and if I wanted, there was a spot available.

If?


I immediately signed up and smiled happily to myself. After all, I had done the preliminary car shopping and would certainly have a vehicle before the 27th of December.

Or not. My parents phoned. They had found a minivan in the same age range as what I had been shopping for, but for about 3,000-4,000 cheaper than the prices here, depending on how well one dickered (and my dad can dicker, believe me). So wouldn’t I reconsider the idea of purchasing one out there and saving myself some money?

Well, yeah. Stupidly optimistic I am, but I hope I’m not stupidly stupid (well, no more than average, anyway).

The problem arose when I realized that the week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve was very critical to our retention team. I wouldn’t be able to get the car until after the 1st of January.

I was stumped. What should I do? Rent a car? Grab a bus and arrive 8 hours later at a destination that was less than an hour away, having paid well more than twice the amount of the class to get there? Set out heroically early and hike the back roads to Brunswick in the predicted snowstorm? Only the first sounded remotely palatable.

And then I remembered. Someone else in my general area was taking the class too…

I emailed Ellen, who emailed the person, who emailed me, and on the very snowy morning of the 27th I met



Gina (a nurse) and Cathie (a doctor) who graciously let a complete stranger carpool with them. Besides introducing me to gelato after the class,



it was heaven to be in a car with two people who did not find talk of which level of needle pointiness one preferred, master knitting classes, and books like Shear Spirit strange. I added a bit here and there, but mostly I just listened, enjoying the almost exclusively knitting talk and Gina’s steady-in-moderately-bad-snow-conditions driving until we arrived.

Ellen’s shop is just beautiful, laid out with a true artist’s eye. It pulls you and practically beguiles you into having one of those falling-down-and-swiping-your-credit-card-on-the-way-out accidents that the Yarn Harlot occasionally mentions. Which explains (along with the birthday money prodding me) how I happened to leave the store with this



(because I have been wanting to learn to spin and so can’t afford a wheel) and this




my very first ever purchase of yarn without a project in mind. I think that naturally colored alpaca in toffee, chocolate brown and warm cream a good choice. I’ve always loved the color brown. (Hey, I’m a Midwestern farmer’s daughter. ‘Nuff said.) I’m not sure I even want to knit it up just yet. It’s so soft and so beautiful and I don’t want to muck it up making it into something it is not supposed to be.

So, I and my debit card were pretty well history in the five minutes we had to wait for Franklin to set up, even though I managed (barely) to hold off purchasing until after the class.

Oh, yeah, the class. You were wondering when I was going to get to that, weren’t you? Me, too.

Firstly, I just want to say I can see how Dolores has managed to stay around so long, despite her clearly delinquent behavior. Franklin is one of the nicest, politest people I have ever met. And not stilted, my-mother-taught-me-I-must-be-this-way-so-I-will-be-even-if-it-kills-me polite, but genuinely warm and very conscientious about giving each student time, as a good teacher should be. A person that nice will be a Dolores victim every time. Watching him instruct when talk part of the class was over was almost as much fun as trying to accomplish anything myself. He’s the most subduedly animated person I have ever met, and his reaction to stunning knitting (and from lace to Gina’s amazing ski sweater, there was stunning in abundance) was a burst of contained excitement. Hard to describe, but very neat to see.

I spent part of my time on Ellen’s computer, reading the manual for the point and shoot the ex-boyfriend had given me when he upgraded and which a friend had discovered for me online. I discovered that there was no manual setting. This did not please Luddite me, who had and a totally manual, non-digital camera when taking a B & W class and adored it (even I have my control freak moments). This means I have a choice between a flash that doesn’t do a great job of compensating for funky house lighting, no flash and having to either be totally still or to create a cairn of books to prop the camera on to get the angle I want (seldom works) or taking all pictures outside (beginning to seem a real possibility). *

The rest of the time, I tried to take pictures, but the shy gene, coupled with that stupid automatic flash that I loathe and detest, pretty much took me over. I was more comfortable watching everyone else than actually taking pictures with people around watching me. Though come to think of it, probably no one was. Shy me didn’t think of that at the time, though. Ah well.




I snapped this quick shot of Ellen and Franklin and had the double indignity of the flash and the lighting not getting along AND the auto focus freaking on me. It turned out badly (though my erstwhile fix-the-blogger's-crappy-photos-for-her friend did his dead level best to make it look better, and it looks far better than it did, believe me) and I was too embarrassed to try for another.

I also one other of the Shetland Lace Sock, though the focus seemed to think I really wanted the crockery to be the focal point of the photo; clearly it and I need to have a heart-to-heart. (And if I had been thinking, I would have gotten a shot of it with Franklin, which would hopefully shut up its whining about missing the Harlot. I felt badly that I left a photo op like that slip by, but the SLS assured me that just having Franklin point at it and discuss it was a thrill, so it’s all good.)



After that, I had a quiet discussion with Paul, and then with Paul and Franklin, on a camera a single mom could afford. They came up with the Cannon GL series, assuring me that even the older cameras with lower resolution were still dependable. Good stuff to know.

And hey, I also discovered out to make my very own, CHEAP light box (I like cheap).







See? (Oh, okay, so I played with the spinning stuff a bit.) I’m going to have fun playing with the types of lighting as well , as I can’t help but wonder what sort of effect hurricane lamp light would have on it. And Thing Two just received a camera for her birthday a couple of months back. Maybe IT has a manual setting.

Hmmmm…..

*Because of the above, you really shouldn't blame Franklin for the lack of decent picture taking. Until I screw up more, I'll never get any better. So, my dear photo guinea pigs, please bear with me. Thanks much.